Dying of the Light
by ladytahiri
Summary: Luke Skywalker is dead, but to his son's consternation, his body refuses to fade.


Disclaimer: George Lucas owns the lot of it.

**DYING OF THE LIGHT **

Lady_Tahiri

They burned my cousin Anakin's body on a funeral pyre fit for royalty. In a way I suppose he was. We all of us are, we who claim descent from the Sith Lord who plunged the galaxy into darkness – and have consequently spilled our life's blood to steer it back into the light. The New Republic my father helped found was not a continuation or revival of the Old Republic that my grandfather had helped shatter two decades earlier. In pointed contrast to the stiff formality of the Imperial Court, the New Republic chose to dispense with pomp and ceremony, to raise the Alliance's egalitarian ideals like a shining galactic standard around which whole worlds could rally. But people cannot dispense with heroes, nor with royalty. Where the latter are in short supply they enthusiastically fashion them out of the former.

I don't know what we would have done with Mom's body if the Force hadn't taken her. Seeing as they deemed her important enough to merit a state funeral, I wonder if anyone would have voiced more than a token objection to a display of pyrotechnics that would have rivaled Anakin's. After that, we could have scattered her ashes … where? Jedi Masters are not in the habit of leaving instructions for the disposal of their corporeal remains. Usually there aren't any.

My father's face stares out at me from his bier.

I stretch out with my feelings, searching his familiar features for some sign, some hint, of how to proceed. There is none – only the rustle of the wind in the trees.

I have cobbled the bier together out of branches, trunks, and the occasional root; sawing large quantities of wood with a lightsaber is hardly quick or easy going, but in the end I get the job done. Dad would have preferred to rest in a place thriving with life, rather than lay in state in a dome of ferracrete, to be inspected by hordes of admirers, detractors, holojournalists and dignitaries. At least I can spare him that.

But for how long? It's been nine days, and he's still here. Mom's body became one with the Force after seven. How long can I remain here, in self-imposed exile upon this Force-forsaken world, and keep the rest of the galaxy from learning of his fate?

_They should have felt it by now._ In the ordinary course of events, the passing of a Jedi such as Luke Skywalker should have sent tremors through the Force from the Rim to the Core. I glance down at him. His eyes are closed and his mouth relaxed. He is tranquil in death as he was in life. His presence in the Force has been waning for weeks – wilting, rather, like a malnourished plant. At this point I doubt even Aunt Leia felt him go.

Which is precisely the way he wanted it. I am sure now that it's the reason he brought me here in the first place.

* * *

"Every Jedi should see it once," he explained as the _Jade Shadow_ reverted from lightspeed above the blue-green planet. I set us a course that would ease us into the atmosphere with minimal turbulence and turned to my father.

"But I've been here before," I reminded him. "Mom and I were on vacation. From the Force." It had been painful at first, not being able to levitate so much as a stone.

"And I'm sure you two had a grand time. Our purpose this time is a little different."

"Aren't we supposed to be following Jacen's travels, to find out what happened to make him … turn out the way he did? Unless you think he was after the ysalamiris' trick of repelling the Force," I added dubiously.

"No, not that," he agreed. "I want your opinion about something. Do you think what we're doing, tracking him, collecting evidence, is going to work? Will we find the answers we seek at the end of this road?"

"It's the only way to save Valin and Jysella and the others. To put an end to this madness, the persecution of Jedi, everything," I pointed out. "It's also our ticket home."

Dad didn't reply. He fixed his gaze beyond the transparisteel viewport. The _Shadow _was closing rapidly with the forest canopy. After awhile he said, "Sometimes, Ben, I feel like we've laid a blood trail on Jacen's ghost."

"You didn't answer my question."

"Your mother and I met here. For three days she held a blaster to my head and threatened to leave Artoo lying under a bush in pieces."

"I could swear you sound more pleased with yourself every time you tell that story."

He smiled and continued, "Your mother wasn't as attuned to the Force as I was – hadn't been, since Endor. So she didn't notice – couldn't feel the difference – because without the Force is when you notice how _alive_ the entire planet is."

"Nah, I'm pretty sure I noticed that when a vornskr tried to jump me in my sleep."

"It's as if, stripped of the Force, we're more sensitive than ever to the web of life, light and darkness," he marveled, and it was clear now that he was no longer speaking to me. He was practically pontificating – my father, who had the patience of a tame bantha and the empathy of a Caamasi. It worried me.

Rather than set the ship down in the abandoned, overgrown ruins of what had once been the headquarters of Talon Karrde's organization, Dad directed me to a clearing deep within the heart of the forest. This meant that our presence was virtually undetectable by orbital or even short-range sensors, unless somebody knew exactly where to look. It also meant that we were a long way from help. _Which we won't be needing, because we're going to hightail it out of here just as soon as Dad finds the non-Force-derived confirmation or solace or whatever that he needs_, I assured myself.

The landing was a bit rougher than I would have liked, and I jerked against my crash restraints. If the quarters had been tighter, or the circumstances different, I might have used the Force to cushion myself. As it was I merely gritted my teeth and vowed to check the repulsorlifts first thing in the morning.

"Ben –" Dad began.

"I know, I know, I'll fix it later."

"Ben, I was wondering when you planned to lower the ramp?" His smile was back, as was the quietly amused twinkle in his eye.

"Oh. That. Sure." I hastened to do so, causing the mechanism to disengage too fast, and the landing ramp to hit the soft carpet of moss with an audible clang. My face burned – that was a rookie's mistake, and I was an experienced pilot – but I much preferred my father's gentle mockery to his fits of detached otherworldliness.

Given his earlier urgency, I had expected him to shoot out of the copilot's seat and race to the surface as soon as I powered down the ship. Instead, I found myself waiting for him at the top of the ramp. "Coming, Dad?" I called.

"One sec," came the muffled shout from within. A few moments later the door to the lounge slid open. "Have you seen the spare power packs?"

"What, for the blasters? We should be fine with what we've got. Just a quick reconnaissance of the area and then back to the ship to hit the 'freshers. If we're lucky we might even run across dinner. As an alternative to nutripacks," I clarified.

"Actually, I meant for the glowrods and the inflatable tents." His tone was apologetic.

"The inflatable ... But it's not like we're camping out," I said stupidly.

He was silent.

I groaned and headed back towards the cockpit. "Sithspawn. You could have warned me."

"Language, Ben, language."

In the end, I got half of what I wanted: A slow-roasted rat of indeterminate species over an open pit fire, speared on a sturdy twig and running with juices. I was ravenous after two weeks of shipboard rations, but Dad hardly seemed to have any appetite. His half of the rat lay untouched at the edge of the fire, black lines of char scoring its skin. He gazed into the crackling flames. _If this was a holodrama, I'd probably expect him to drop some weighty revelation about the fate of the galaxy right about … now._ As he had obviously missed his cue, it was incumbent upon me to give him a nudge.

"Why are we really here, Dad?"

He sighed. I hadn't startled him out of his reverie after all – he'd been anticipating the question all along. He said, "Because it's a good place to die."

* * *

I used to think that when my father went it would be like a star gone supernova, a flash of light so bright as to be blinding, a gash so sharp as to be painful to Force-sensitives everywhere. I know now that it is futile to number the stars; that light can be eclipsed by shadow; that pain can be allayed by rage. These are the final lessons my father taught me, though he would have denied it to the grave. He _did_ deny it to his grave. His whole life was one long denial of the dark side, of anger and pride and naked aggression, all the things that the enemy represented. He denied the Empire in all its reincarnations; he denied the Vong and the Killiks and his own fallen nephew, but sometimes I wonder if such tactics amount to being in denial of yourself.

If he gave his life in service to the Light, why has the Light not seen fit to claim him by now?

_And how am I going to explain this to Aunt Leia and the others?_

As I hurtled through hyperspace in my mother's ship, bringing my father's body back to Coruscant, I devoutly hoped that I wouldn't have to. I prayed that the atoms that knit him together would spontaneously decide to dissolve their bonds. Because otherwise I was going to have to explain how Luke Skywalker had slowly and deliberately killed himself.

* * *

The armor of Uncle Han's pride notwithstanding, the _Millennium Falcon_ is neither faster nor more deadly than the _Jade Shadow_ in a stand-up fight. It is, however, considerably better suited to sneaking, slinking, and other forms of skullduggery; after all my mother didn't take up smuggling until long after my uncle got after of the business. I've seen Han pull out a list of false transponder codes long enough to hit every stop on the Corellian Run and half of Hutt Space besides. Unfortunately, the _Shadow_ carried nothing equivalently helpful, and even if it did, I would have been reluctant to reenter Alliance space under such pretenses. The last thing the Order needed was for the government to obtain proof of yet another Jedi bending the rules – especially when that Jedi's name was Skywalker. Besides, I was hardly planning to keep my presence or my cargo a secret.

A crackle of static over the subspace comm. "This is Coruscant Control hailing unidentified yacht. _Jade Shadow_, you are not authorized to continue. In fact, you are in violation of the terms of your parole by venturing within fifty parsecs of Galactic Alliance air space. Suggest you withdraw immediately. Failure to comply will result in your compulsory removal from this system. "

As I watched, a flight of Skyhoppers peeled off from a patrol, heading straight for me in a loose wedge formation. When they got close enough half the squadron would break to starboard and I would receive an escort back into open space – though if my descent continued I was just as likely to receive a couple of crippling shots from an ion cannon. Maybe a laser or two.

"Control, this is Ben Skywalker. The reason for the sentence of exile has … ceased to be applicable. Request permission to land."

The voice on the other end lost some of its earlier hostility. "Look, kid, you're not responsible for someone else's mistakes. Sins of the fathers and all that. But you can't bring that ship anywhere near this planet as long as your old man's on it. That's the bottom line. Now, is he on board or not?"

It would have been easy, perhaps even defensible, to respond with a negative, but technically my father _was_ aboard. A Jedi never lied if he could help it. And in this case, I could.

"Perform a sensor sweep, then. Take as long as you like. If you come up with more than one sizeable life-form reading then I promise to eat gotal for dinner."

"This is no time to be playing games, kid. You can either turn around now or be towed out of here with a tractor beam." The edge was back in his voice. Maybe it was the way he said "kid," but for some reason I pictured Uncle Han's lopsided grin on the other end of that comm unit, and suddenly I knew this man, at least, harbored no animosity against the Jedi in general or my father in particular. All he saw was a kid who was in over his head. He was trying to help me the only way he knew how.

What he didn't know was that I wasn't a kid anymore and that I hadn't been one for a long, long time. On the day I laid my mother to rest in the almost certain knowledge that my cousin had murdered her, I had already left my childhood far behind.

"Please." I tried to inject my tone with as much sincerity as I could muster. "It wouldn't take long to send someone to check. I give you my word to stay with my escort. We'll continue to circle up here, well away from the spaceport, until you can confirm the results of your scan and give me clearance."

There was a brief silence while he presumably conferred with a superior. "Pretty confident we won't find anything, aren't you?"

"Nothing here for you to find, sir."

"Well, just so you know, even if it's like you say, we'll still have to board you once you land. And the inspection is likely to be pretty thorough, so if you're carrying anything you shouldn't –"

"I'm not."

"All right. In that case your escort will take you to the probe. I warn you, kid, if there's any funny business on the way –"

"There won't be."

When the comm came alive again some twenty standard minutes later, it was to the sound of a different voice. "I must congratulate you, Jedi Skywalker, on your ingenuous attempt to circumvent a legal edict issued by the Galactic High Court. Whatever Jedi techniques your father employed to conceal his presence, be assured that they will not work on those dispatched to meet your ship. We will await you at landing pad fifty-seven. _Both_ of you." I noticed he spat the word _Jedi_ like it was a curse.

If I had expected an irate reception, all I got was waves of chillingly single-minded efficiency rolling off the GAS team who marched up the boarding ramp the moment I set foot on the dock. I turned to the remaining members of the welcoming party. "Was it really necessary to send them in vac suits?"

"We have had far too much experience with Jedi to underestimate your tricks. You may consider yourself under protective custody until the search is complete. At such time you will be released … to the penitentiary ward, if need be." A human who wore the bars of captain flashed me a smug grin.

I cast my glance around at the plainclothes GAS agents who had unobtrusively cordoned off the area around the landing pad so that not only would passerby be hard-pressed to bumble into my exchange with the captain, but he could sedate me with a stun bolt and no one the wiser for it. The fingers of my right hand itched to draw my lightsaber.

"I wasn't aware that it was the policy of Galactic Alliance Security forces to conduct arrests without a warrant," I said mildly.

"According to Directive 459, we are empowered to take preemptive action in incidences of Jedi aggression."

I snorted. "Please. I don't expect to get a fair hearing here."

"And where would you receive such a hearing? Among a panel of your Jedi peers, perhaps?"

He was interrupted by the beeping of his comlink. "Report," he barked.

"Sir, we've found something."

"Skywalker?" he supplied eagerly.

The hesitation was long enough to be plain even to me. "No, sir. I mean yes, sir, it's him, but he's – sir, we're moving him off the ship as we speak, sir."

The captain's eyebrows rose at the implication that the Jedi Master was not moving under his own power, but before he could formulate a comment or issue further commands, the corpse came into view. While it was still recognizable as my father, the features were more distorted than I recalled during my vigil on Myrkr, where I had tended to him every day. I had sealed him up in a makeshift airtight shroud for the duration of the trip to Coruscant. A sturdily built gray-suited agent carried my father's limp form draped over both arms, and the shroud was nowhere in sight. I saw the captain flinch involuntarily at the first waft of the smell, and – despite the renewed heartbreak it caused me to see my father subjected to such indignity – I had to suppress the urge to smirk. Naturally, the men in suits were unaffected and had no idea that the situation was rapidly getting out of hand.

"My father is dead," I pointed out somewhat unnecessarily.

"A likely story," he sniffed, though I could feel the uncertainty and desperation seeping out of him like a sieve. "Everyone knows that Jedi –"

"It hardly requires a Jedi to ascertain that a body is no longer among the living," observed a cool voice from behind me. I whirled to see that the newcomer had breached the security cordon through the simple expedient of having his guards shove their way through ahead of him. Those guards were attired in the same basic black-on-black-with-red-piping Imperial scheme as their leader, a tall man whose ink-black hair was shot through with a single streak of silver. The sharp planes of his face were marred by a scar which began where the silver streak ended.

"Ambassador Fel. You must have gotten lost in the spaceport. I would be pleased to provide you with an escort to your berth."

Jag Fel brushed aside the veiled threat for the feeble riposte that it was. "That won't be necessary. As it happens, I'm on my way back to my suite. And I'll be taking Jedi Skywalker with me."

"I have unfinished business with –" he began to protest, but Jag cut him off.

"Unless you and your … assistants prefer to convey him to the Temple yourselves?" The captain glared at Jag, who held his gaze. "Or do you have some other destination you'd like him delivered to?"

The other man looked away first. "I'm sure Jedi Skywalker will be grateful for the lift." He pivoted on one heel and, at some unseen signal from him, his cronies filed out behind him. He motioned them ahead to loose one last parting shot at Jag. "The Chief of State will hear of this."

"Of course. I'll tell her myself at our meeting in" – he checked his chrono – "forty-three minutes."

When the last of the gray suits had been swallowed up by the spaceport crowd, Jag indicated that I should follow him to his vehicle.

"My father –"

"Already taken care of." Two of the uniformed – honor guards? body guards? – were moving to lift him from where he was slumped against a bulkhead. They handled his body with visible reverence, lightyears better than what the GAS tag team had shown. It was certainly more dignified, not to mention less conspicuous, than me using the Force to elevate him above the crowd's heads.

I nodded curtly. "Lead the way."

Jag led me to a white hover transport waiting just outside the landing zone. "Ephraim, Jan, I want you to take extra care with Master Skywalker's body." He received acknowledging grunts. To me, he said, "I apologize for my less than glamorous mode of transport. The fact is, my personal limo is currently undergoing repairs and it will be several days before it's serviceable again. There was a mishap."

Knowing the kind of sleek, heavily armored vehicles favored by visiting dignitaries, I had a hard time believing that anything short of the Emperor and five apprentices hurling Force lightning could have inflicted serious damage on Jag's limo. "A Jedi mishap?" I suggested.

One corner of his lip curled slightly into what, on any other man, might have been the beginnings of a smile. "Understand, Ben, my diplomatic role here prevents me from directly opposing Chief Daala's misguided and ultimately self-destructive anti-Jedi policies. It does not, however, prevent me from making myself a nuisance to those tasked with implementing such policies, and I have absolutely no compunction about doing so." He checked at my barely concealed start, and continued, "You don't object if I call you Ben?"

"No," I said, my surprise at this unexpected intimacy quickly suppressed. "Of course not. Thanks for rescuing me, by the way."

"Your father was a great man. A great Jedi Master – arguably one of the greatest – but to me he will always be, first and foremost, a great man. I'm sorry for your loss."

I looked into his earnest green eyes and saw the depth of feeling there, and remembered the weight that had descended upon his still-young shoulders when my father had named him the Imperial Remnant's new Head of State less than a year ago, as the price of the Moffs' freedom.

"It is not easy to be the son of a great man," said Jag. So I remembered, too, that he was the son of the most talented, the most celebrated, the most decorated and the most infamous TIE pilot the Empire had ever seen. I could not imagine what his upbringing must have been like among the rabidly competitive, perfectionist Chiss.

Actually, I could. I looked back on my own childhood and this time I saw, not my father's unconditional love or my mother's fierce protectiveness, nor the doting affection of my aunt and uncle or my cousins' effervescent delight, but the dangerous galaxy they had tried to shield me from. It had pressed against us, though, like the void of night outside our charmed bubble of light. And then Jacen had fallen, and the bubble had burst, and now here I was getting ready to pick up the last broken shard of what remained of it.

Sooner or later I would have to learn to accept condolences gracefully, but Jag's were so sincere that I figured he wouldn't be offended if I changed the subject. "I noticed that they didn't give you your proper title."

"No, anything to reinforce the notion of our paltry insignificance before the gathered might of the Galactic Alliance. It would be impressive, really, were it not so much empty posturing. The Empire needs the Alliance and vice versa – for the sake of our economies if nothing else – and that's not going to change, regardless of what this diplomatic summit does or does not accomplish."

"You don't sound very optimistic."

"What makes you think my primary purpose in coming to Coruscant is political in nature?"

It took me a moment, and then I began to laugh. I couldn't help it. Mom – being an ex-Imperial herself – had seen it before the rest of us, but I was sure Han and Leia would come around eventually: Behind the deadpan humor, this one had definite possibilities.

"So how do you get away from the watchers?" I asked after I stopped wheezing.

"You forget that I was a pilot before I was a politician. I have a great deal of experience with evasive maneuvers."

"You're telling me you _outfly_ the two dozen airspeeders chasing you anytime you step into a vehicle? What about the automatic holorecorders? They're everywhere."

"I'm telling you that I have procured body doubles for Jaina and myself."

"No way."

"But in some cases, it becomes necessary to resort to conventional means," he continued.

"So that's why we're taking such a roundabout route to the Temple."

"Correct. While we cannot hope to shake the ones who are on our tail, we can avoid the ones who lay in ambush along the more predictable routes."

"I don't like the way you use that word."

"Ambush? Traffic jam might be a better word for it. Terribly inconvenient for us, of course." His gaze rested on the opaque barrier behind which his companions sat with my father's body.

"What do you think they want with us?" I asked.

"Hard to say. Whatever it is, I promised Jaina I wouldn't let them have it."

"Yeah? When was that?"

"Shortly before I retrieved you from the odious officer who had detained you upon your arrival. She'll meet you and bring you to the Temple."

I nodded in understanding. "She's preparing the groundwork, letting the Masters know I'm coming. My father …"

"I guessed, even before I saw you. She knows. It will be all right."

I wanted to share his unruffled assurance. I said, "Thank you. For everything you've done for my family and for the Order. If there's anything I can ever do for you, you know where to find me."

"I'm not exactly welcome at the Temple currently."

"Oh?" I prompted.

"It's a long story. If Jaina wants you to know, she'll tell you herself." He paused, as if wrestling with some momentous decision. "There is one thing before you go, Ben. I was going to wait and let her tell you this, too, but given the circumstances … well. Jaina has done me the honor of agreeing to marry me."

I was not surprised that I'd been left out of the loop. My father had usually confined his sporadic communications with Cilghal to strictly Jedi business, and in any event there was no reason that Cilghal or anyone else outside the immediate family should know that Jaina was engaged. As soon as they went public with the news, I had no doubt it would be splashed all over the HoloNet. Plus, this was Jaina, whom I'd never been that close to. Mom claimed that when I was little I used to follow Jacen around like a lost puppy. _And we all know how that ended._ Dad sometimes got this pained look in his eyes when he talked about Anakin, whom he said I resembled in more ways than one. _But we'll never know how that would have worked out._ Jaina was an entirely different kettle of fish.

"There's no one else I'd rather have for a cousin-in-law," I told Jag truthfully.

* * *

Once, when I asked him for a story, Threepio recounted the unsettling experience of attending Chewie's memorial service on Kashyyk. Amidst the towering centuries-old trees and thick, twining vines throbbing with life, he and Artoo had felt acutely conscious of their own immunity to that great equalizer of flesh-and-bloods' fortunes, death. Well, Threepio had been discomfited. I suspect Artoo is far too pragmatic to get his circuits in a twist by genuflecting on the suitability of an analogue between death and deactivation. My focus tends to wander whenever the protocol droid's ruminations veer into a miasma of self-recrimination worthy of a mystic, or a philosopher, or a certain type of Jedi Knight. Instead, I imagine the raw grief writ upon my uncle's weathered face, the vulnerability exposed there by the of sudden collapse of one of the pillars upon which he built his life.

The irony, of course, is that had Chewbacca's body been recovered, none of the humans present – not even Han – would have been permitted to attend the funeral; to say nothing of the droids. The secretive burial customs of Wookies remain a subject rife with speculation in certain subfields of anthropology. Meanwhile, Chewie's remains are floating around in vacuum somewhere in the vicinity of what used to be Sernpidal.

Uncle Han was the first person to tell me, Don't get mad, get even.

I feel like I just watched the man who owes me twenty million credits in sabcac winnings being shot out of the sky – along with his ship, his crew, and every single witness to the long, intricate game we played. I mourn them as I mourn myself. Without him I am marooned here. In my dreams I am always marooned upon a deserted planet, awaiting the transport that will take me home. It is, perhaps, a dread peculiar to those of us who were born among the stars, born between planets and doomed forever to wander in their wake. But I am no less infuriated by my abandonment now than I was the first time. _Dad, why did you leave me here?_

The planet is not merely deserted. It is a desert, its twin suns rising and setting with the rhythm of the tides. There are no tides here, only seas of sand. The heat assaults me in waves. The denizens of this place are either too cautious or too preoccupied to show themselves. There are canyons, caverns, crags, gorges; there are small scared creatures who scramble across my path; but above all there is time in abundance. Time to think, time to plan, time to fan the fires of my indignation until they smolder into a conflagration of righteous rage.

Ahead, a dune rising gently out of the sand. With every step my feet sink deeper and it requires more effort to yank them out. I halt at the top.

"Dad!" I shout, my voice a knife in the stillness. "I won't let you get away with this!"

And the dreamscape dissolves around me.

I recall now that I have never seen Tatooine except in grainy holos, never allowed sand to trickle between my toes except on artificial beaches. Dad never thought to take me there – not on a mission, not even on a vacation. When my cousins were ten they visited their father's homeworld of Corellia; to no one's surprise the whole trip went from "vacation" to "mission" in no time flat. Yet whatever the circumstances, they were able to reconnect with their heritage.

For the first time I wonder at the source of my father's reticence with respect to Tatooine. My father is hardly intimidating to look at – it's easy to be fooled by his kind blue eyes and easy, open countenance; even easier to be taken in by the absolute serenity he radiates through the Force. It's easy to forget that he came of age in an era just as turbulent as our own. It's easy to forget that Tatooine was my grandfather's homeworld, too. By all accounts he was another young man bent on saving the galaxy one princess at a time.

I used to think that I had been born too late. I was weaned on tales of my father's heroism and my mother's ruthless efficiency. There were more unauthorized biographies of my aunt than of any ten holovid stars combined, and occasional epidemics of strange men on the street who affected my uncle's hairstyle. Sometimes, out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of a Wookie-sized hole hovering over their shoulders. But it was hard to tell because my entire field of vision was cleaved by the fissure that was Anakin's sacrifice.

Jacen taught me, among other things, that the enemy is never defeated, only temporarily driven into retreat; that the Light exacts a terrible price of its champions; that the battle is as old as the stones of a Massassi temple, as eternal as the cycle of day and night. When the time came that the war demanded my own sacrifice, I knew I would be ready. It was my turn to save the galaxy. So why had my father felt compelled to take the burden upon himself yet again?

* * *

Jaina was waiting with two speeders, one of them obviously designed to haul cargo rather than race through the labyrinthine alleys of Coruscant with its gaudily painted brethren. She had chosen well; there was even a mimetic tarpaulin to cover him with once we had loaded him into it.

"Ben!" She closed the distance between us in two strides and embraced me. "Ben, I didn't even feel him go."

"I probably wouldn't have, either, if I hadn't actually been there to see it."

After she watched me lower him gently to the ground, she knelt beside him to remove the shroud, to gaze upon his face one last time. His rapidly decaying face.

Jaina glanced up sharply at me. "How long has it been? Why hasn't he …?"

I shook my head slowly.

"Oh, Uncle Luke." She pressed her forehead to his and left it there. It seemed long moments before she returned to her feet. "I can't believe he's gone. To lose him like this … I'm so sorry, Ben. I shouldn't have let my own grief overpower me. You must be hurting so much right now."

"It's okay. I've had longer to get used to it."

"How long, exactly?"

"Fifteen days."

Jaina's brown eyes grew large and solemn. "I was hoping to keep the news quiet as long as possible. Hence my insistence on meeting you here, rather than letting Jag drop you off at the Temple."

"Is it that bad?" I asked.

"Bad enough. As acting Grand Master, Kenth Hamner's already driven a wedge right down the center of the Order, but at least before, we knew it was only temporary. He was only standing in for Uncle Luke. And as much as I disagree with his policies, it's not entirely fair to blame Kenth. We got rid of the observers, and the next thing we knew they'd arrested Tahiri."

"They did _what_? She's not even part of the Order!"

"She's charged with the murder of Admiral Pellaeon. We've tried to offer her our support, even as Kenth insists on not antagonizing Daala. The thing is, with Uncle Luke gone, I'm not sure _anyone_ can hold us together." She paused. "Is it bad that he's lying there not two meters away and I'm trying to find the most politically expedient way of breaking the news to everyone?"

"I figured it was bad when I got the reception I did. Though I understand congratulations are in order."

Jaina blushed. "I didn't think now was the time to bring it up."

"No, now is the perfect time to bring it up. Dad would be happy for you."

"Thanks. That means a lot to me."

"Jaina," I said suddenly, "where are your parents?"

"They had to leave in a hurry. There was some nasty business awhile back. Come, I'll fill you in on the way."

Although the Temple Spire was visible from where we stood, Jaina picked a circuitous route that wound through dim underground passages and beneath bustling pedwalks. Less than half a klick from the Temple, we left the speeders with a hooded being who conferred briefly with Jaina, traversing the remainder of the distance on foot. I insisted on carrying my father myself.

"They'll be waiting for us," she warned me.

"Will they want to gawk at him too?"

There was apprehension in the set of her jaw. "Not normally. But when I told Kenth you were bringing Uncle Luke's body home, he didn't believe me at first. He hadn't felt it."

We were met by no one when we slipped in through a little-used service entrance. No solemn-faced apprentices, no cleaning droids, no brown-robed Knights striding confidently along the corridors. Someone had cleared the way for us.

The Council chamber fell silent as Jaina swept past the two wide-eyed apprentices tasked with the ceremonial duty of guarding the door. The chamber itself, dominated by twelve larmalstone seats arrayed in a circle to accommodate the twelve Masters who sat upon the Council, offered standing room only for the rest of us. I marched to the center of the circle and laid my father upon the floor, then retreated to stand beside Jaina. _Let them gawk._

"So it's true," murmured Kam Solusar from his place on the other side of the circle, his eyes riveted to the body.

Kenth Hamner spoke first. "Jedi Skywalker," he said, and in that one word I heard all the recognition of my status as Jedi Knight that had been obscured by my father's shadow. "Thank you for bringing the Grand Master back to us. It can't have been easy."

"It's been fifteen days," Jaina interjected. "As you can see he's not in good shape. Surely Cilghal, you can …?"

The Mon Calamari healer nodded and spoke quickly into her comlink. "Tekli and I will do what we can to preserve Master Skywalker's body until the memorial service. If I may be excused." She fixed me with a sad, bulbous gaze as she floated my father's body out ahead of her, and I felt a tendril of reassurance brush me gently through the Force.

Kenth waited until the door clicked shut behind Cilghal to continue. "We're concerned, however, because none of us felt Master Skywalker become one with the Force. In fact, none of us has been able to detect his presence for some time now. Can you tell us about that?"

My father was so self-evidently _not_ one with the Force – as those of the Masters wrinkling their noses at the cloying scent of putrefaction could attest – that for a moment the question rendered me speechless. "He shut himself down on purpose," I finally managed. "We were on Myrkr, so it was hard to tell, but the whole time he was drawing his life energies closer, folding himself up like the mouth of a Tooke-trap plant."

"What were you doing on Myrkr?" Kyp Durron leaned forward.

Kenth shot him a sharp glance, then turned back to me. "But how is this possible? You're telling us that the Grand Master almost anticipated his own demise. Yet as far as I know, when he left Coruscant he was in excellent health, and with his deep connection to the Force could expect to enjoy many more years of it."

"I don't know about _anticipated_. Maybe _foresaw_. He had a vision."

"I see. And the nature of this vision?"

"My father believed that his willing death would ensure the survival of the Jedi Order."

Saba Sebatyne's sibilant speech punctured the silence. "This one thinks that such a choice is perilously close to suicide."

I bowed my head in acknowledgement of her statement. If she was right, what did that make me guilty of – one count of assisted suicide? Two counts of conspiracy to deprive the galaxy of its savior?

"Nonetheless," Kenth continued, "you were not troubled by the failure of your father's body to fade away, after so long?"

My head snapped up. "Of course I was. He was the best of us. He's done more for the Jedi than anyone else in galactic history. I never had any doubt that he would eventually become one with the Force. But then I remembered my mother, and I thought maybe … So I brought him back here, hoping it would give him some kind of closure. It hasn't."

Kenth nodded, apparently satisfied. "We will, of course, make all the appropriate funeral arrangements at the earliest possible date."

I gaped at him. "But Han and Leia aren't even here."

"The Council has asked them to undertake a mission of vital importance."

"The same mission that required them to tackle a squad of Mandalorians, and then break every regulation in the book while blasting off the planet?"

"Ben, they volunteered for that. I would know; I was running the diversion that allowed them to sneak offworld," Jaina reminded me, slightly taken aback by the vehemence of my objection.

"There will be no funeral until my aunt gets back."

"Please be reasonable, Jedi Skywalker. I understand that your father's death must come as a terrible blow, but the situation on Coruscant is too volatile to allow this news to simmer and afford unscrupulous third parties the opportunity to put their own spin on it. If you know that the Chief of State has hired Mandalorians to employ against the Jedi, you can imagine what she would do were she detect any weakness or disorganization in the wake of the Grand Master's departure."

"So that's it? Luke Skywalker is dead, make way for Grand Master Hamner?"

Jaina spoke before Kenth could respond. "Master Hamner, Ben isn't himself. Even so, he has a point. My mother and my uncle are twins. I know if something …" She drew a breath before plowing ahead. "If something had happened to my twin brother, I would have wanted to be there for his funeral. So I advise you to wait."

"What do you suggest, that we freeze him in carbonite?" Kyp said, though the worried look he shot Jaina took the edge off the suggestion. There was a brief lull as everyone recalled Corran Horn, who was conspicuous by his absence. Now that they had been granted visiting privileges, he and Mirax had taken to sitting with their children in shifts.

"Master Durron has a point as well. Cilghal cannot preserve the Grand Master's body indefinitely. Sooner or later we will have to hold the service – and it will have to be a public service. You must have known that when you came here."

"I didn't come here so you could make a farce out of my father's funeral!"

"You would have had to come back sooner or later," Kenth observed evenly.

I studied him for a moment – his careworn features, his eminently reasonable arguments. "No. I didn't. And I'm leaving right now." And without giving myself time to reconsider, I did.

Footsteps echoed in the corridor behind me – resolute but unhurried. I ducked into an alcove to wait for Jaina.

"Ben, wait."

"Don't tell me I'm being obstinate. You're not one to talk."

"You are, but I'll let it pass. I want to know what happened to you."

"What do you kriffing well think happened? My dad died."

She shook her head. "You were so … collected when I met you in the alley. Even Jag said you were handling the spaceport officials fine before he came along. Then in the Council Chamber you just fell apart. What happened, Ben?"

I stared at the wall. "I don't want the funeral to go ahead without your parents."

Jaina was silent. After awhile she said, "What did you mean earlier when you said you wouldn't have known he was gone if you hadn't seen it with your own eyes?"

That was not what I had expected her to say.

"How did Uncle Luke die?" she pressed.

"It doesn't matter. I'm leaving."

"Where are you going?"

"To see someone who understands."

"Ben," she began, but I was gone.

* * *

Why is the lightsaber a Jedi's weapon of choice?

Dad would say it isn't a weapon at all, that it's merely a visible emblem of the Order's mandate to protect and serve. I think that's about as accurate as saying hawk-bats lay rock-shaped eggs because they eat granite slugs. Whoever heard of a meter-long plasma "emblem" with the power to part durasteel like butter?

Mom would shrug and point out that it requires you to get down and dirty with your opponent – unlike with a projectile weapon, where it's impossible to know if your blaster bolts found their mark unless you were recording the firefight. I can hear her dry, sardonic voice as she ticks off the possibilities one by one: Maybe a sentient being deserves to have you look him in the eye before you snuff his life out. Maybe swinging a blade around all day gets you in shape. Maybe it's handier, more portable, less obtrusive than a blaster. Maybe the lightsaber was invented by the Sith.

The lightsaber is singularly suited to dueling. Think about it: How do you conduct a duel with blasters? I once saw a holovid featuring two Rodians who did just that, stood fifty meters apart and took turns taking potshots at each other – but first of all that's a dumb thing to do, even for a pair of Rodians, and second of all how long do you expect the bout to last before they have to call in seconds? The show is over before it's even begun.

It takes weeks, maybe months, to turn a kid with a good eye and a steady hand into a half-decent shot, but years to master basic lightsaber technique. There's three different combat styles and fancy footwork and an entire catalog of thrusts and parries. Let it never be said that the Knights of the Old Republic didn't have a flair for the dramatic, for what else would you call a prolonged dance – almost choreographed in its crispness – between two combatants whose identical brown robes billow in the breeze? That's classic theater right there.

It occurs to me that if the history of the galaxy was written upon a turtle's shell, landmarks would coincide with lightsaber duels: The one where Jaina killed Caedus. The one where Jacen killed Mom and in the process became Caedus. The one where Dad went after Lumiya in a fit of vengeance. The one where Dad slew Lomi Plo and with her the Dark Nest threat. The one where Corran slew Shedao Shai, and we lost Ithor anyway. The one where the Academy students brought a temple down on top of Exar Kun. The one where Dad and Aunt Leia defeated the Emperor reborn. The one where Mom killed Dad's clone.

My father has been involved in many, many lightsaber duels in his day. There is one duel that he rarely talks about – though I hear they stage regular reenactments in the Galactic Museum – and that is the one where Darth Vader cut off his hand. He doesn't need to; every time he flexes his prosthetic right hand it's a reminder of what he lost that day, as well as what he gained. He gained a father, however flawed and misguided the man was. He got to keep him for barely a year before losing him forever. Which one hurt more – the loss of the father or the loss of the hand? These are the questions I never got to ask him, questions that will likely plague me until my own dying day.

His father was a villain, and he wept over the corpse. My father was a hero, and I'm as dry-eyed as the Tatooine desert.

I need to know: Can we save others from my grandfather's fate? Is it possible? Should we even be trying? What is the price of a life spent in service to the Light? What is the cost of constant vigilance against the encroaching darkness? Above all, why did I wait until he was gone to start asking?

* * *

She sat cross-legged on the floor, her eyes closed, her back straight as a ramrod. There were no windows. There wouldn't be, in a maximum security cell.

"I'm surprised they didn't ring the place with ysalamiri," I said by way of greeting.

Green eyes snapped open, widening in surprise, though not at my presence. "They let you in."

"Had to leave my lightsaber outside."

"Good, that reduces the ways you can kill me down to Force asphyxiation and blunt trauma to the head."

My laugh sounded stilted, even to me. "It does seem that every time I see you we're trying to kill each other."

"You were never trying to kill me."

It was getting uncomfortable being the only one standing, and as she showed no inclination to get up, I lowered myself to the floor across from her. "I didn't figure you for the meditating type."

"Is there another type?" she shot back.

"Yes, the shoot first, ask questions later type."

"That was Anakin's bad influence." The fact that she could drop his name casually in conversation told me more than a thousand words could have done. We were okay. She forgave me. _Forgive me for what?_ I immediately wondered. _Shouldn't she be the one apologizing?_ Then I glanced around at the bare walls, the single pallet in the corner.

"Has anyone else been to see you?"

"Just Nawara Ven. My defense counsel."

"Nobody from the Order, then."

She spread her hands. "Welcome to my humble abode."

"Tahiri, hold on a second, okay. I came to talk. You won't get anywhere if you keep holding us off at arm's length."

She arched an eyebrow. "Who died and made you Grand Master?"

"My dad, actually."

That stopped her cold. She might have been able to exercise commendable control over her emotions in the Force, but she could do nothing about the expression on her face. What I saw there was shock, yes, but also pain and deep, abiding grief. I wasn't the only one who had cared for my father. Tahiri was, however, the only person thus far to cut straight to the marrow of the matter.

"How?"

"As far as I can tell, by a combination of starving himself and overexertion through astral projection. By the time he was gone, really gone, there wasn't much of him left."

"You haven't told anyone else." It wasn't a question.

"He said he didn't have a choice."

"Don't we all."

"He said … He said he saw things, terrible things … a galaxy bereft of Jedi, ruled by a dynasty of Sith emperors. He said he could fix it."

Tahiri tilted her head and fixed me with a look that said, _And he thought meddling with the future was a good idea_ why? What she said was, "Do you think it worked?"

I shrugged. "I guess we won't know till we're all wiped out in the next purge."

"Not me, I'm happily employed as a bounty hunter."

"Chief Daala doesn't seem to think so."

A shadow flitted across her face. "No, she doesn't."

I realized then why I had come to Tahiri. All my life I had been insulated by the inner circle of my family and a few trusted confidantes – Wedge, Winter, Lando. There was no reason to look beyond it because the only people who understood the gift and the burden of the Force were other members of my family, or other Jedi. At present Tahiri was neither. But once, long ago, she might have been. It was this bond that was not a bond between us that drew me to her time and again; it was why I had believed in her back on Shedu Maad, when she insisted I wasn't trying to kill her: Because I saw what might have been. Maybe my father, too, saw what might have been.

"There was a boy, almost a man," I continued. "He was the one my dad kept going back to, when he left his body for hours, sometimes days at a time. I would sit there watching over him, dribbling water between his cracked lips, and then when he came back he would be raving about how this boy had my mother's eyes."

Tahiri waited.

"The kid was in some kind of trouble. He was a user, and he ran with a bad crowd. He hadn't fallen yet, but my dad said he was standing on a precipice. The fate of the galaxy – the fate of the Force itself – is going to rest in his hands."

"You think your dad died to save this kid, whoever he was."

I nodded mutely.

"You think he's your son."

"No, I think I'm starting to question how much is too much. Isn't there an injunction against suicide in the Jedi Code?"

"Actually, there isn't."

I ignored her. "I've seen firsthand what the Dark Side of the Force can do. But by the Emperor's black bones, the Dark Side didn't kill my dad – the _Light_ did! Tell me, what kind of cause warrants that degree of sacrifice? He had responsibilities here, to me, to the Order, to the whole galaxy. It wasn't like we were on vacation; we were on a mission. How does it serve anybody for him to do what he did?"

"That question might be better answered after we've all perished in this hypothetical purge of yours."

"I just … I'm supposed to be sad, but I'm mad. Mad at him, and mad at everyone else for not understanding how stupid he was at the end. They all think he's this paragon of Jedi virtue. So did I. He wasn't just my dad, he was my _hero_."

Suddenly I was sobbing, shuddering, tears streaming down my cheeks and dampening my robe, and Tahiri had bounded to her feet and was across the room in two strides, taking my face between her hands.

"Shhh, shhh, it's okay. Look at me, Ben."

It was hard to see through the film of tears, but her green eyes were like a beacon in the mist. Absently I wondered why this scenario felt so familiar.

"Listen to my voice, Ben. That's it. Good." She rested one hand lightly on my shoulder and trailed the other thumb over my cheekbone. "You don't remember, but when you were little, Anakin and I used to babysit you on the _Errant Venture_."

"And my mom trusted you guys?" I gasped in between sobs.

"In a manner of speaking. She trusted Anakin, and she trusted me to keep an eye on Anakin."

"How did that work out?"

"You were a tough charge. You cried _incessantly_. I started to suspect that was the real reason Mara pawned you off on us, rather than all the meetings and conferences she and your dad were supposedly attending."

My laugh came out as a hiccup.

"Anyway, Anakin was less than useless. The guy was good enough with machines, but he couldn't change a diaper to save his life, much less clean up the mess you made every time you brought up your dinner. If I wanted something done I had to do it myself. And Mara had warned us specifically to refrain from using the Force whenever possible."

"Right, didn't want me using it as a crutch. Sounds like my mom."

Tahiri nodded. "Exactly. Plus, I have to admit, it was more fun that way. Within a week me and Anakin had come up with dozens of creative ways to keep you entertained. My favorite was the one where he got down on his hands and knees and crawled with you through an obstacle course we set up in the lounge."

I had stopped crying by now. "I didn't know," I said slowly. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Those were the happiest days of my life."

There was nothing to say to that, so I kept silent. After awhile I ventured, "What was Anakin's favorite?"

A faraway look came into her eyes. "He liked me to sing. He had a voice like a gundark, himself. There was one lullaby that you loved – well, I guess you'd have to call it a poem, a poem that somebody set to music. I doubt it was intended as a lullaby – kind of heavy stuff for a six-month-old infant. But every time I sang it, it worked like a charm. I held you in my lap, and I sat in the crook of Anakin's arm, and a couple of times that's how your parents found us, all three of us dozing on the couch. It was like … like being part of a _family_ again."

I could picture the scene in my mind's eye, my steady infant's breathing and Anakin's solid presence wrapping Tahiri up in a cocoon of safety. In that instant of clarity, the mirror cracked, shattering into a million billion pieces, and the image before me once again resolved into the woman that Tahiri had become.

"How are you so strong?" I asked her.

"I've been broken," she said simply. "And Anakin wasn't there to put me back together. I want you to know that it's possible to do that, to heal yourself. Even when you've lost everything you believe in."

"Thank you. And … I'm glad we had that, back on the _Venture_. You and me and Anakin."

"Me, too, Ben. Me, too."

There came a banging on the door.

"I have to go."

"I know." She withdrew a little. Digging into the folds of her robe, she proffered a sheet of flimsipast covered in scribbles in her wide, careless hand. "Here. These are the words. I bet you anything you still remember the tune."

"Wait, how did you …? You knew I was coming? You knew I would ask for this?"

"No, but the Force did."

"I'm going to get you out of here in time for my dad's funeral," I said impulsively.

Tahiri's wan smile was infinitely tender, infinitely compassionate. "May the Force be with you, then."

* * *

Towards the end, I asked him if he would come back, the way Obi-Wan and Yoda came back; the way Mom did, for a while at least. He didn't hear me. He was transfixed by the imminent tragedy of another time, another place, another boy who needed his guidance. I didn't suppose it had ever occurred to him that _this_ boy still needed him.

I was wrong.

He said, Fear is of the dark side.

I said, Don't you mean anger?

You're angry because you're afraid. You're afraid of being abandoned. What's more, you're afraid of someday being the one doing the abandoning. You're afraid of turning out like me.

I won't make the same mistakes.

Son, we all make the same mistakes.

I wondered then if I were doomed to repeat this dance as fathers and sons had done for eons without end, if the bone-deep convictions of my adolescent soul were as nothing to the inexorable progress of time and fate.

He said, I know what it feels like.

Do you, Dad?

I lost my uncle and my mentor within a week of each other.

Did they sit there on their deathbeds reminding you to be a good little Jedi?

The corner of my father's mouth twitched. No in so many words, no. Then he said, Is there anything you'd like to say to your mother?

Is there anything you'd like to say to your son? I countered.

Yes, he said. You're a better man than me.

* * *

The last time my aunt had made a public address was just days after her son died and hours before the Chief of State blew himself – and half the Imperial Palace – up. There was a time when her clear, impassioned voice was a fixture in the Grand Convocation Chamber, when her simple white Senatorial robes were a symbol of hope to billions.

Everyone was wearing white in the Morning Court today, even the dignitaries and the holopress.

A pier had been erected for my father's body halfway between the speaker's podium and the seating area for guests. These latter were literally crammed into the atrium until it was standing room only, and through doorways I caught flashes of bystanders in adjoining antechambers or hallways craning their necks for a better view. Some of them didn't have necks. Most of them hadn't been invited. Insisting on holding the funeral inside the Temple had been an ingenuous means of restricting attendance, however "public" Master Hamner proclaimed the event to be. It had been the easiest thing in the world to declare that as a recently orphaned sixteen-year-old boy, I refused to countenance holding my father's funeral anywhere other than where my mother's had been held.

_There is no emotion, there is peace._

As I shifted my center of balance from one leg to the other, I reflected that Tahiri would have approved of the thick layer of sturdimoss which carpeted the chamber, making shod feet unnecessary and even unpleasant. Tahiri was not present, or I would have insisted on her standing with me and the rest of the family, regardless of the amount of hubbub it might have caused. As it happened, Jag in his starch-white uniform was causing plenty of hubbub all by himself.

I had found them in the third floor corridor, conducting a whispered exchange as they walked, Jaina's faster pace compensating for her shorter stride. They were, as always, perfectly in sync.

"Jag, I want you to stand with the family," I said without preamble.

"I'd be honored," Jag replied solemnly, at the same time that Jaina hissed, "Have you gone insane, Ben?"

I had let the wrong man join me in mourning a departed parent once before. It was not a mistake I would be repeating. "In case it's escaped your notice, I'm asking him because he's _your_ _fiancé_."

"But what are the journalists going to think?"

"That our family has good taste, presumably."

Jaina's frown deepened. "Look, think about it for a second. It's supposed to be Uncle Luke's funeral, but the way Kenth set it up, it could turn into a circus any minute now. I know the kind of media vultures that descend on these things. We don't need to add fuel to the fire by giving them the Imperial Head of State to gawk at." She looked at him for confirmation. "Jag and I are extremely circumspect in public."

"I don't care if all you do is snog in turbolifts, or if the two of you got hitched on Mon Cal last night. Jag is family, and I want the whole galaxy to know it."

Jag laid a hand on Jaina's arm. "We'll be there, Ben."

I decided I would be sorry for the way I had treated Jaina. Later.

_There is no ignorance, there is knowledge._

It was true that for the moment most of the attention was directed towards our little trio at the head of the pier, but that changed when my diminutive aunt began to ascend the steps of the podium. Uncle Han fingered the blaster he wasn't wearing and looked uncomfortable as he proceeded to do what he'd been doing for the better part of his life: Hover around Leia and support her in an arena in which he had no expertise, whether it be politics or the Force.

Silence fell as Leia strode to the center of the podium, her regal bearing accentuated rather than reduced by the liberal streaks of white shot through her loose brown hair. Her features showed no hint of the toll it must have taken – not least on Han's beloved _Falcon_ – to race back from Ossus in time for the funeral. That was where I gathered they'd been, anyway. In the wake of my father's death the ordinary business of the Order appeared to me to be steeped in secrecy.

"My nephew and the Acting Grand Master both asked me to deliver this eulogy. Considering who I am and why we're here, I couldn't refuse." She let her gaze sweep over the room. "We are here to commemorate the passing of the Grand Master of the Jedi Order, Luke Skywalker. Master Skywalker was a protector to the weak, a friend to the forsaken, a teacher to the inquisitive – and an implacable enemy to those who sought to shape the galaxy to suit their own twisted vision, who did not count the cost in innocent lives."

"But you already knew that. None of us would be here today if it weren't for Luke. Without Luke, the world we inhabit might be controlled by any number of ruthless regimes; the temple where we are gathered might never have been rebuilt from the rubble of its ruins. I speak not as his sister but as a citizen of the Galactic Alliance when I say that Luke Skywalker saved us all. Which is why I feel that I cannot, after all, deliver this eulogy."

There was an audible intake of breath from the audience.

"Because while many people knew him as a hero, a savior, a traitor or a scapegoat – a figure larger than life – Luke himself would never have wanted his memory to be invoked in the service of vague, abstract principles. He served the Force, and the Force is life. I therefore yield the floor to a man who can testify firsthand to my brother's goodness, his generosity, his compassion, and above all his humanity – my husband."

This time, the murmurs rose to a fevered pitch.

_There is no chaos, there is harmony._

From the sheepish look on Han's face I gathered that this request was not altogether unanticipated, although it was clear he had not acceded gracefully. The continued muttering from the guests was understandable. This was after all supposed to be a _Jedi_ funeral. It was not an unreasonable expectation. My father had been for forty years the face of the Jedi Order, his very name synonymous with its promise of peace and justice. His exploits during the Rebellion had long since acquired mystical proportions. Now, my uncle may have been the most famous Corellian in living memory, but it would be a gross understatement to say that my aunt was the orator in the family. Leia was up to something.

Han glanced down periodically at the datapad he cradled in one palm – not as if he were reading from it, more like he was trying to recall something important. "Some of you know me personally," he said. "Some of you wish you didn't. You all knew Luke. As a kid Luke was an idealist, a visionary, whatever you want to call it. Unlike most of us he kept that idealism as an adult. That's what set him apart. He believed in the good in each of us with every fiber of his being, and he was willing to do whatever it took to help us find it."

"As soon as I met Luke in a cantina I started getting shot at, and every fifth day after that without fail for a standard month, the kid would manage to almost get me killed. I'm not making this up. I put it down to his overzealousness to save the galaxy, at first. Then I realized that _I_ wasn't getting into bad situations because of _him_, _he_ was getting into bad situations because of _me_ – or billions of other people like me. He _cared_ about what happened to us, and that's what you can't forget when you hear people calling the Jedi insular or arrogant or whatnot. Jedi are people. Every Jedi is somebody's husband, somebody's daughter, somebody's friend. Even before I married his sister, Luke Skywalker was the best friend I ever had."

"I would probably be justified in saying that I lost both my sons because of Luke. Because of Luke, every single member of my immediate family is, was, or will be a Jedi, and I'm not unequivocally happy about that. There were times when I wasn't happy with Luke; wouldn't have trusted him as far as I could throw him – which, him being a Jedi Master, wasn't very far. But all the same I sent my kids to him for training. He had as much to do with raising them as I did. I didn't do it because I saw eye-to-eye with him on everything, or because I wanted them to turn out just like him. I did it because … because I challenge every single one of you here to name anyone who invested more in our future, in our children, than Luke Skywalker did. His legacy isn't confined to the Jedi Order or its premises. Again and again, when we thought we were lost, he gave us hope."

"I thought I was rescuing him all those years ago on Tatooine. The truth is, he rescued _me_, him and his hokey religion. I wouldn't be the man I am today if not for Luke. He inspired me to fight, and to keep fighting, and to never lose sight of what I'm fighting for. He showed us all that there are things worth dying for, but many many more things worth living for. We are here to honor the memory of Luke Skywalker – hero of the Rebellion, Jedi Knight, and Jedi Master; father, son, husband, brother, uncle, and, of course, brother-in-law."

I no longer wondered what Aunt Leia was up to. There was a film of moisture in the nearest attendees' eyes, even some whose species I wasn't aware possessed tear ducts. I had felt the mood of the room shift from anxiety and intense curiosity to rumination and sympathy and finally empathy. My father had been universally recognized and – at one point – nearly universally liked. It looked like Uncle Han's speech had again elicited those feelings in a number people. Even knowing what I did about my father's last days, I was by no means immune to the appealing image Uncle Han had painted with his rhetoric that was yet not overtly rhetoric. Yes, Aunt Leia had chosen well when she asked him to speak in her place.

_There is no passion, there is serenity._

Han did not immediately step down from the podium. He didn't even recite the Jedi Code, or ask his wife to recite it, as some knowledgeable individuals seemed to be speculating he would do. It was the traditional way to a close a Jedi funeral.

Han said, "And now, because this is Luke's ceremony, it wouldn't be complete without a few words from Luke's son Ben."

I could feel the Council's eyes on me. Master Hamner was not exactly staring vibroblades at my back but it was a close thing. The others, like Saba and Kyp, seemed to be reserving judgment. I was after all a full-fledged Jedi Knight in my own right, as well as being my father's only child. Any way you sliced it, nobody could deny me a chance to speak.

"Thank you for coming. It's good to know that my father is remembered by so many friends. I'll keep this short," I began. My voice was croaking from grief, or disuse. It reminded me of when I was thirteen and it had cracked without warning one night just as I was asking Mom to pass the nerf steak.

"If I may, I would like to read a poem given to me by a member of my family who is unable to be here today."

I waited for the muttering to subside. Anybody who was even marginally knowledgeable about current events was aware that all the Skywalker-Solos were present. Then I waited for Han and Leia to stop silently admonishing me for alluding to Allana, whose face had been deemed too well-known to risk appearing at such a heavily publicized event. She was sitting in front of the holoprojector with Threepio watching a live feed of the funeral.

I drew the flimsiplast from my pocket and unfolded it. I could easily have transferred the few bytes to a datapad, but holding it in my hand seemed to give me a physical connection to Tahiri.

I took a deep breath and began to read.

"Do not go gentle into that good night,  
Old age should burn and rage at close of day;  
Rage, rage, against the dying of the light."

"Though wise men at their end know dark is right,  
Because their words had forked no lightning they  
Do not go gentle into that good night."

"Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright  
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,  
Rage, rage, against the dying of the light."

"Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,  
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way.  
Do not go gentle into that good night."

"Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight,  
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay.  
Rage, rage against the dying of the light."

"And you, my father, there on the sad height,  
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.  
Do not go gentle into that good night.  
Rage, rage against the dying of the light."

_There is no death, there is the Force._

~fin~

A/N: The poem is _Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night_ by Dylan Thomas.


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